


But We Are Not Snakes (The Living With Ghosts Remix)

by heyjupiter



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Community: remixredux10, F/M, M/M, Multi, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:11:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remy LeBeau needs a distraction; he finds one in St. John Allerdyce after the events of X3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But We Are Not Snakes (The Living With Ghosts Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lorax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/gifts).
  * Inspired by [But We Are Not Snakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/76387) by [SullenSiren (lorax)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorax/pseuds/SullenSiren). 



> 90% of the spoken dialogue (as opposed to thoughts) in this is from [lorax's original story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/76387). I was so happy for the chance to remix this story, and I hope that others enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thanks to R for the beta.
> 
> "But We Are Not Snakes" is from the song "Forgiveness" by Patty Griffin; _Living with Ghosts_ is the album that song is on.

Remy wants to leave, to be anywhere but Atlanta. Bella had called, asked to meet him there--really, Atlanta? He knew he wasn't welcome in New Orleans anymore, not after the disaster that had been their wedding ceremony, but still, they couldn't have met in Lafayette? Baton Rouge? After accidentally killing her batshit crazy brother, was he now too unclean to even visit the great state of Louisiana?

Well. Perhaps he was, at least in the eyes of the Boudreaux family.

Remy needs a distraction. He'd pulled together enough cash for a one-way first class ticket to Paris. He figured his French was good enough to get by, and he could do with a bit of glamour, with a few Parisian women.

He's stopped wearing his wedding ring and now he doesn't know what to do with it. He'd like to wear it again, one day, maybe. A chain around his neck would raise too many questions. So he keeps it tucked in a tiny pocket sewn in his long leather trench coat. Thanks to his alterations, this coat now has far more pockets than its designer originally intended. He reaches in one of them now, pulls out a letter from Belladonna. He puts it back without reading it. He needs to get away from her right now. Physically and emotionally.

Instead, he pulls out some cash and orders another drink, giving the tired airport bartender his most charming smile. She pours him an extra-strong Jack and Coke and smiles back. He sips it until he hears " _Boarding is about to begin for Flight 783, Atlanta to Paris, at gate B-10_ " boom over the loudspeakers. He leaves a generous tip and scoops up his leather carry-on, heading briskly to his gate. There, he casually sizes up the crowd. His lips tip up when he notices a familiar face. St. John Allerdyce. Pyro. One of Magneto's right-hand men. Well. Formerly one of Magneto's right-hand men. And not bad-looking, either. He wonders how no one else recognizes Pyro--his face had been all over TV, after Alcatraz. He supposes most people don't really know how to look. And Remy should know; he takes advantage of the less-observant as a profession.

He boards with the other first class passengers, but keeps Pyro in the back of his mind. He needs a distraction. And Pyro, perhaps, needs--someone. Remy grins to himself. He focuses his charm and whispers to one of the stewardesses that one of his old friends is in coach, and if there was any way she could possibly... he trails off and smiles. She thinks he's a celebrity, probably--his sunglasses and his good looks tend to create that suggestion, and Remy never does anything to dispel that illusion. Before long, she reappears with a sullen-looking Pyro in tow.

Remy pats the seat next to him and says, "You will be more comfortable here, mon ami."

The stewardess leans in, giving him a dazzling smile and whispering that she'd be happy to do _anything_ to make his flight more _enjoyable_. Well, of course she would. He smiles back and thanks her, carefully dialing back the charm. He'd like a bit of privacy, now.

He pulls up his glasses, revealing his eyes to Pyro for a moment--it _is_ nice to know he won't be called "freak" or worse for showing them. Then he says playfully, "Isn't there a prison cell somewhere missing you?"

Pyro starts, then quickly feigns indifference, saying, "You want to turn me in, fuck you."

Remy's a little offended. He hadn't opposed Magneto, not exactly, nor had he agreed with him enough to join up. But he'd never rat someone out. It's true what they say about honor among thieves, even if the Brotherhood of Mutants had been rather more than thieves. Still, he's decided that he wants Pyro to stick around. He has a good gut feeling about the guy, and Remy trusts his gut. Anyway, he needs a distraction, and he's settled on this one.

Remy says, "There is, sometimes, no shame in doing what must be done, if it is what you believe in." Part of him admires Pyro for his dedication, even if he questions the cause. He looks out the window, considering his words. "We are ducks awaiting the hunters. It is easier to stay flying if there is someone at your back, no?"

Pyro sizes him up for a long moment, but then he relaxes into his seat. He warns, "Screw me over, and I can take the whole fucking plane out – blow the engines and everyone on it." Remy believes him, but he's not too concerned.

Remy grins and deftly pulls a playing card out of one of his hidden pockets. He idly passes it between his fingers and introduces himself. "Remy," he says. He doesn't think Pyro knows anything about him--certainly not enough to recognize the card as its quiet own threat.

"Pyro. I'm not a fucking duck."

Remy laughs and pulls his glasses back down; they have reached an understanding. "No – I think you would not be one for water." He tucks the card away; he knows he won't need it. "What flock do you follow, then?" It's a joke and it's a serious question, and he's not sure what kind of answer he'll get.

He gets no reply from St. John--Pyro--and he's not surprised, but he supposes he is a little disappointed. Remy's not used to people leaving his questions unanswered. He could always charm it out of Pyro, but where's the fun in that? He'll bide his time.

He swallows as the plane takes off, equalizing the pressure. He curls his fingers around the armrest. Remy vastly prefers to pilot his own planes, hates the uncertain moment of takeoff. Once they're in the air, it's smooth sailing. He glances sidelong at Pyro, but that conversation seems to have reached a standstill. The stewardess brings some champagne for him and Pyro, and he smiles at her, just a quiet, normal smile. She looks a bit confused, and she doesn't bring them any more drinks.

Remy's not thinking about Bella, about the Guild, about the taste of his Tante's jambalaya. He's not. He's thinking about Parisian boutiques, pastries, and women. He smiles at the other first class stewardess, and more drinks materialize. Remy happily accepts. Pyro shakes his head. His dark eyes are guarded. He's wary of gifts, of favors. Remy files that information away; Remy himself has often taken unwarranted gifts for granted, but perhaps the time has come that he should be more wary.

***

Remy hadn't necessarily assumed that Pyro would stick with him, but that doesn't mean he's surprised when the young terrorist trails him through Charles De Gaulle and silently follows him onto the RER B train toward the city center. Remy ignores Pyro and instead flirts with a blandly pretty French girl. She looks like a porcelain doll, not like Belladonna, who was beautiful, fiery flesh and blood--but she's a good distraction, at least, and at the train station she unclasps her ostentatious string of pearls and gives them to Remy. "En souvenir de moi," she says. To remember me by.

Remy grins, thanks her, and says, "Comment pourrais-je t'oublier?" How could I forget you? But in truth, by the time he finds a buyer for her necklace, he no longer recalls her name. Marguerite, perhaps? Or maybe that was the brunette at the hotel. Madeline? He's standing in the rain, trying to remember, when two men jump him. Automatically, Remy reaches into a pocket and snaps out his bo. He's been able to fight for about as long as he could walk, and he sees no need to reveal his mutant power to take these two out. It tends to attract unwanted attention.

Pyro cups his lighter in his hand and looks slightly dumbfounded, his damp bangs plastered against his forehead. Remy offers him a grin and says, "Maybe we should find a safer neighborhood, non?" But instead, he takes Pyro and his newly-acquired stack of Euros to a high stakes poker game, in the back room of a bar he knows. He and Pyro pretend not to know each other--and do they, really, know each other?--and Pyro loses just the way Remy taught him to. Remy wins, just the way Jean-Luc taught him to. That night they check into a suite at the Ritz. The receptionist initially tells Remy they're booked full, but a smile and a wink persuade her to double-check her computer. There's nothing wrong with the king-size bed Remy's sprawled in, but still he can't sleep. His Tante Mattie says Remy's half in the spirit-world; he's always been extra-sensitive to the feelings of others. He knows Pyro's having a nightmare in the other room, not for the first time since they began travelling together. He sighs, climbs out of bed, and watches his companion sleep for a long moment. The usually-guarded Pyro looks tormented, and Remy carefully shakes him awake. Pyro averts his eyes from Remy's sympathetic gaze, and Remy returns to his own bed. That night he dreams of his wedding day, of Julien's death.

***

Weeks pass, and they linger in Paris. Though he's aware that Paris came first, Remy cannot help but think of the city as a pale imitation of New Orleans. Remy can survive here--can survive anywhere--but this place is not his home, and the women he brings to bed are not his wife.

One night in their newest hotel room--Remy's never bothered to find an apartment here, because that would give their stay in Paris a more permanent flavor--they watch the news. Pyro's picked up enough French to get the gist of the story, and of course much of the interview footage is in English with French subtitles. Remy recognizes Mystique, of course. She'd come to recruit him for the Brotherhood long ago, but then Remy had had his own family. The Guild. From the looks of it, she won't be doing any recruiting for a while, not after being "cured" and imprisoned. He sees Pyro in the news too, looking fierce and alive, a moth captivated by his own flame.

Aloud, he says, "She is beautiful, for a terrorist."

"You should have seen her before," Pyro replies, his voice brittle.

"What was she like, then?"

"Everything," Pyro answers, and Remy's intrigued, wondering what Pyro had seen in Mystique that Remy had not. He's a little jealous, too.

"What is your name, peu de flamme," he asks. On the television, Mystique is led away from her interviewer, back to her prison cell.

"John," Pyro says quietly.

"John. It is a good name. Like the King. The bathroom. The Saint and the Baptist." He gives a grin that looks more carefree than it feels. "It is no wonder they want your head on a platter." Remy knows that names are important. He's glad Pyro has finally seen fit to reveal his name to Remy, though Remy had already known it. He's found it useful to be well-informed about the Brotherhood. Still, it is good to see that Pyro remembers who he was, what he was, before he was Pyro.

"You the church type, Cajun?" John asks.

"Remy take all the help he can get, John, even though he don't need any," Remy lies. "They call me Gambit, in Nawlins."

"Why are you here, Gambit?"

Remy tells the best truth he can: "Because Nawlins stopped being the place for Remy to be."

"Why do you give a fuck where I go?"

"I have never said that I did. But it is easier to be no one when there is another to be no one with."

"I wasn't a terrorist."

"Non. I have never said you were."

"I believed he was right. I was a soldier," John says, and Remy knows that this identity is very important to John. So he shares his own, equally important identity.

"I was a thief," Remy says, and he can tell that John is about to point out that Remy is still a thief, present tense. He keeps a smile on his face and says, "It is not the same to steal as it is to be a thief. Now I am no one." Remy is pleased to have identified their commonality, what drew them together. They both once belonged somewhere, and now they do not.

"Is it enough?" John asks, sounding younger than he looks, than he is.

"What else is there, mon ami?"

"Nothing," John says.

In his heart, Remy disagrees, but he says, "Then it will be enough. We are not what others are."

"Gods among insects."

He'd heard that line before, back when the Brotherhood wanted Remy to be another one of their soldiers. Remy, who still finds himself reflexively Hailing Mary in times of distress, replies, "There are no gods. We are just the insects who bite. It is enough."

Pyro stares, and Remy recognizes the look in his eyes.

"It is enough for now," Remy amends, stroking Pyro's face. There's an intensity that reminds him of someone--of Belladonna, of course, of beautiful, deadly, Belladonna. He waits, and the intensity shifts. Now it's directed at Remy, and Pyro--John--tips his head up, inviting Remy in. Remy accepts the invitation, tracing John's jaw with his lips, then kissing him. Remy's a great kisser, but John's no slouch. John starts grinding against Remy, and Remy reaches out, casing John's body with his long thief's fingers. John pushes against Remy with urgency, shoving him onto the bed, but Remy refuses to be hurried. John wants to turn this into a meaningless fuck, but Remy knows there's meaning to be had here. No matter what John might think, Remy hasn't intentionally used his charm on him, not once. There's no sport in that. He'd never used it on Bella, either, though she'd seen him in action, knew what he could do. On good days, she'd believed him. But it didn't matter--Remy always plays fairly, at least according to his own rules, and he doesn't particularly care if others don't know what rules he keeps.

And so Remy strips off John's clothes, knowing permission has been granted. John finds it more difficult to remove Remy's clothing, and that's by design. Pyro looks briefly surprised to see a knife tucked in Remy's belt. It's not Remy's first choice in weaponry, but Remy believes in being prepared. With this philosophy in mind, he artfully focuses on John. John, who needs this release. John, who needs to be wanted. John comes and gasps, falling limply against Remy.

John, who Remy knows hates unearned favors, reaches out for Remy's cock. But Remy grabs his wrist, stills his hand. "Non, not tonight. You can owe me," he says. He knows John will interpret this correctly--that this will not be a one-time thing. He laughs a little at John's look of anger and lust and hope, and he leans down to kiss him.

That night they sleep together, back to back. That night John tosses uncomfortably, murmurs, "Erik," in his sleep. Remy turns over and gently kisses John's shoulder. John awakens and doesn't return to sleep. They lie back to back and both think of others they miss.

***

The next day Remy goes out, looking for a distraction. He'd been thinking of a card game, but instead he finds Sophia, or was it Sabine? Anyway, they have a few things in common--they both have expensive taste and they both like sex. She leaves Remy her diamond ring as a memento. She hadn't worn it on her ring finger, and Remy wonders idly if it's from a previously-broken engagement. He leaves it in the nightstand and hops in the shower, washing Stephanie away. When he comes back into the room, he finds John lying across his bed, watching a sequel to some shitty action movie. Remy sits on his own bed and regards John, who finally says, "She any good?" He sounds no more sullen than usual.

"She is a widely traveled road, mon ami. But worth riding down once." He grins. "Our business is concluded."

"Next time, fuck you, get another room."

Remy laughs. He reaches out to grab the TV remote from John and complains, "You have shit taste in television." John shields the remote against his chest and smirks. Remy supposes that would make them even, if this were a game. He supposes maybe they should get separate rooms, but the idea doesn't appeal to him. And if John wanted his own room bad enough, there'd be nothing stopping him from heading out on his own, nothing at all.

Ignoring the film that John persists on watching, Remy pulls out Belladonna's latest letter. She sends them care of a bartender they both know, and every so often Remy swings by to see if there's anything new, always careful not to get his hopes up too high.

All of her letters use different words to say the same thing: I love you, but not enough.

***

An old friend offers Remy a job in Amsterdam, and he takes it without explaining the details to Pyro. There are some people who need some things, and that's the kind of work that Remy does. Pyro doesn't need to know that the contact for this particular job happens to be Ororo Munroe. And, for that matter, Ro doesn't need to know that Remy's been travelling with her erstwhile student. All she needs is a new part for some kind of high tech device the mansion's got.

Remy meets with a contact in the back room of a bar. He's got the part, fist-sized but much heavier than it looks, tucked in one of his pockets. They're almost home free, but Remy can't resist the invitation for a card game.

It goes sour when a huge, walrus-tusked man calls him a "goddamn cheater" in oddly-accented English and upends the card table. Remy instinctively dodges, but it's close. He pulls out his bo, John pulls out a lighter, and everybody else pulls out guns. Remy's nervous for his small cargo, but his gut tells him that this isn't a setup, it's just a coincidence. Just Remy's luck running out at the worst possible time, as it's prone to doing. Remy reaches out with his staff, knocks guns from men's hands, and then he smells smoke. The table's gone up in flames, along with the stack of cash that Remy had won (possibly less than honestly, but so what? he'd still won). The walrus-faced man is burning alive. They're all burning alive. It smells like hell. Pyro's face looks... maniacal.

"Pyro," he screams. "Stop it, this is... " he trails off when he realizes he isn't being heard. he grabs John, strong-arms him out of the bar and down the street, away from the fire. He wants to get out of the range of immediate suspicion, but stay close enough that Pyro can still control it. He's not quite sure of Pyro's range, but two blocks away he slams him against a brick wall and hisses, "Put it out."

Pyro's eyes are wide. They remind Remy of a drug addict's. He shakes Pyro again, wishing this were as simple as a coked-out companion.

Remy'd lost his sunglasses in the commotion, and the smoke, sunlight, and still-dancing flames are all killing his eyes. He glares at Pyro, who sighs. Remy can see the fire die down, as quickly as it had been formed. Well, that didn't look suspicious at all. Pyro's still out of it, high on the endorphins he apparently gets from burning people alive. At least he doesn't protest when Remy shoves him in a cab back to their hotel. He hopes the more than generous tip will be enough to keep the driver from telling the authorities about a red-eyed man and a crazy man who both reeked of smoke.

Safe for now in their hotel room, Remy, still holding Pyro by the shoulders, hisses, "What the fuck are you doing?" Pyro gives him that same drugged-out grin and says nothing. Remy shakes his head and says, "You are a fool."

"Fuck them. They thought they could take us out. They were trash. They weren't one of us," Pyro says. He's feeding Remy Brotherhood lines, which Pyro hasn't done in ages. Remy's had it with that.

"What are we that they are not, John?"

Pyro looks sullen--more sullen than usual--and says, "Pyro."

" _John_ ," Remy repeats. "They are mutants. They are thieves. They are men who hide in the shadows and they're assholes. How are we any different?"

"We're better. They don't believe in shit. They don't know-"

But Remy's had enough of propaganda, of people who profess to believe in something but don't follow through. "What do you believe, John? In the old man who is no longer a mutant? In that woman who sits in a cell? In the cause that gained us nothing but more suspicion? You do not even know what you are. And you condemn them for being less."

Pyro shoves ineffectively at Remy and says, "Get the fuck off me."

Remy can hear his accent thickening, can hear the words of his father coming out of his own mouth as he says, "You are NOTHING. Pyro. You cannot go home. You do not have one. You mouth words that say you're better, but you never believe it. You think I have not seen what you are? What you do? You shut your eyes and say nothing that you think, because you do not know what you think, only that it is easier not to, and you-"

"You know SHIT about me!"

"Because there is nothing to know! You do not even know what you are when you are not what they make you!"

John straightens. "Like you're any better."

"I know who I am. You just have not wanted to know. You do not ask because you do not want to offer. And now you burn down a building in the middle of downtown." Remy shakes him again, angry and worried and perhaps betrayed. "You have given them a way to find you."

"You want to go, go," John says.

Remy stares, gives him a sad smile. He had thought that John understood the connection the two of them have, but he realizes that John does not. How can John know what they have in common when John doesn't even know himself? "That is what you want? It would make it simpler, would it not? Then there will be no one who has stayed."

"Fuck you," John says, with no real venom.

"Tell me you want me to leave you alone, then." Remy waits for a response, idly twisting his fingers around the back of John's tense neck. "The only reason I care that you are found is because I am with you." John looks away, and Remy continues, "That is what you think. Is it not?" He lets out a frustrated snarl and carefully enunciates, "You are an idiot."

He kisses John, and Pyro is still angry. He kisses back, but it's violent, threatening.

Remy jerks away. "It has to be this for you, doesn't it?" he muses. Maybe he had misunderstood the situation all along. It's possible that John is more damaged than he had thought. But for now, Remy is feeling tired and angry, and he can keep up with John. With Pyro. He returns the violent kiss and pins John down on the bed, gripping his wrists. John groans and bucks up against Remy's leg. The sheer anger in Pyro's eyes has shifted into something more complicated. Remy looks down and says, "I do not like the idea of you in prison, peu de flamme."

Immediately, John's face lets Remy know that he has said the wrong thing, but Remy doesn't care. He's glad he said it. Too, he's glad of the way that John is touching Remy, glad for this chance to burn off energy and aggression, and he reciprocates. They fuck like fighting, like burning down a building, and Remy's nearly overwhelmed by sensation. Nearly--he still remembers to pull on a condom. Remy always remembers. His sense of self-preservation is about the only thing that's kept him alive some days, but it's never failed. Then he lubes up a finger and loses himself again, in the sounds John is making. John's pressing against his fingers, hard and fast, and Remy thrusts his cock in. John hisses, and Remy moans. He isn't gentle, but John doesn't protest. Remy carefully positions himself so he's looking into John's face, at his closed eyes. He waits patiently until John opens them.

"Where were you?" Remy asks quietly, for it is clear that John has not been all there today. Perhaps he is here now. John closes his eyes and says nothing. Nothing coherent, anyway. Remy strokes John's hair and rocks his hips, gentler than before.

"Who are you?" he asks. He receives no answer, save a gasp. "John. Look at me."

John's eyes open, but he's still not there. But he twines his hands in Remy's hair and kisses him, not as violently as before. Remy kisses him back, feeling slightly relieved. "John," he murmurs, hoping to remind John of just who he is, though it's clear now that Remy doesn't know who John is.

Remy reaches for John's cock, quickly coaxing an orgasm out of him. "Erik," John cries, and Remy doesn't think he was supposed to hear that. Still, Remy comes moments later. He pulls out. John lays limply on the bed, and Remy watches with concern. John had said Erik's name in his sleep before, but it had not occurred to Remy that Pyro and Magneto might be anything more than soldier and general. He needs a few moments to process this new information. John opens his eyes and meets Remy's gaze.

"That is where you go," Remy says softly, thinking perhaps he's finally closer to understanding John. He kisses John gently, then ties off the condom and throws it away.

"Who are the letters from?" John asks hoarsely, to Remy's mild surprise.

He considers his answer only for a split second and says, truthfully, "Someone who used to be home to me."

"She wants you back?"

"Non, not as you mean it. It is complicated." Remy can't explain the Guilds, the never-ending war between Thieves and Assassins, the love for family and duty to Guild that come above whatever Remy and Bella share.

"You'll go back," John says darkly, and Remy doesn't reply. He hopes he will.

John falls asleep, and Remy watches him. Both to see if he's all right, and to make sure he's really asleep. Then he slips out to meet with his contact, to hand off the heavy metal piece that had miraculously not been damaged in the afternoon's events.

"This is it?" Logan growls. "This is the thing that Storm needed so bad she couldn't trust FedEx with it?"

Remy shrugs. "This is it." Logan shoves it in his backpack. "You're welcome," Remy says.

"You should take more showers," Logan says. "I can smell the kid on you."

"That, I think, is none of your concern."

"Might be of concern to INTERPOL," Logan growls, but Remy knows a bluff when he hears it.

"Lots a things might be of concern to INTERPOL," he says indifferently. "I imagine we'd all be better off if we don't worry their pretty little heads with any of it."

Logan snorts and stalks off without another word. Remy goes back to the hotel and kisses John awake from another nightmare. He murmurs easy reassurances in French, the things Jean-Luc had whispered to Remy after his childhood nightmares. Remy curls his body around John's and they both fall asleep. When he wakes up, John has already showered and packed his backpack. They move on and keep moving.

In new cities, Remy still finds women. John finds some too. Neither of them have any illusions that they're anything other than distractions.

***

 

One night in London, Remy spots a familiar face--a familiar attitude--at the bar. Mystique, wearing a sexy blonde body, almost a parody of femininity, winks at them. Remy glances at John and realizes that he doesn't recognize his former compatriot. But Remy knows how to look, knows better than most people. He crosses the bar to talk to her.

"Gambit," she purrs. "Interesting company you keep."

"You're looking good, Mystique. Have you lost weight?"

"No," she says, "I've gained my life back."

"Your power wasn't your life."

She shakes her head. "You don't understand, Gambit, you never have. We are at war against the humans. The Brotherhood needs you."

Remy shakes his head. "Then how about you be me?"

"You know what I mean, Gambit. Your powers... you could turn so many to our side."

The hairs on the back of Remy's neck stand up. He's not above occasionally using his ability to charm someone into bed or something into his bank account, but charming someone into joining a guerrilla army is not exactly his speed. Mystique can tell she's losing him, and she presses her lips together and tries a different tack, appealing to Remy's sense of honor.

He and Mystique have extremely different definitions of honor.

He hears her out because he knows she'll go after Pyro next, and he wants to learn as much as he can. That night he goes back to their hotel and fucks Pyro, knowing the end is soon. Even if Pyro doesn't go back with Mystique--which would surprise Remy--Remy thinks that Mystique is probably right about the war. Not all his letters are from Bella, and he's been giving real thought to Ro's offer of a place in Westchester, a place on the X-Men.

He spends two more days with Mystique, saying little. His mind is made up and they both know it. She offers him cigarettes and he accepts. His old friend nicotine soothes him slightly. He knows she'll move on to Pyro next, and he finds that he doesn't want to be around to hear him be persuaded by this dangerous woman. Instead, he goes home with a charming bartender. In the morning, he slips out before she wakes, fully expecting to return to an empty hotel room. He's right, but surprised to see Pyro's backpack still lying on the floor. He sits on his bed and turns on the TV, settling on BBC Breakfast. It's chipper and mindless, and he doesn't look up from it when he hears the door swing open.

"You are going to go with her?" he asks.

"Not me she wants, Cajun."

Poor John, Remy thinks. He turns from the TV and meets John's gaze. "She would settle for one," he says, honestly.

"You're not going?"

"I am not a terrorist. No matter how they mask it. And I will not be what she wants me to be." Remy looks away, gathering his thoughts. "At home, I was to be something special. Bella and I. It did not go as it should, in many ways, and I left. She wishes me to go back. Be what I would not be then. Pull together and lead and make them an accessory to the Brotherhood. She will use anyone and everyone to get what she feels is right. To win this war she sees coming."

"You don't think there'll be a war? That they won't fucking come after us? That she's not right? Nothing ever changes without people fucking killing everyone else over it," John says, sounding for all the world like a young, petulant Magneto.

"They have made a weapon. The Cure – it was a weapon, but it was a hope, too. Now, because of what they did. Because of the fear they have sown, they have made a disease. A virus that floats through the air and kills only those who are like us. That is worth fighting over. It is worth hating for. But what good will that do? What will be better when those who have done it are dead, St. John?" He wants to remind Pyro of his real name, that once someone had cared enough to give him a holy name.

"What good does lying down and taking it do? It leaves you dead. Ask fucking Xavier."

"Perhaps I will."

"Charles Xavier and those he teaches invited Remy to stay with them some time ago. He is gone, but I think perhaps it's time I took him up on it, anyway. I am tired of being no one. Aren't you?"

"When I'm someone, I'm someone who'd go with her," John says.

"You do not have to be. Everyone walks down paths they wish they hadn't. You can go back, John. It's just never easy." That may be the truest thing Remy's said to John.

John smirks, trying to look cruel but looking only like a hurt young boy. "That why you're not heading home to warn them? Tell Bella you fucked up and fucked around?"

John does not understand, but then, how can he? Patiently, Remy says, "One step at a time. First I choose my side, then I tell them. And her."

"I don't go where I'm not fucking wanted. And there isn't anyone there who wants me walking through the doors unless it's with a Cure in my fucking veins and my hands in cuffs." He looks down at his hands and adds, quietly, "Why were you with me?"

"Because you were there," Remy says. It's the truth--he'd given no thought to St. John Allerdyce until he'd happened to see him at airport security. But it's a harsh truth, and he adds, "That does not mean Remy wasn't glad to have found you. Or that he didn't already ask if the invitation was for two."

John still looks hurt, and Remy pulls an ever-present deck of cards from his pocket. He shuffles them, lets one card pick up a slight charge. He hasn't used this power in a long time. Not since his wedding day, he thinks. Not since Julien. He can feel John's eyes on him, and he lets the charge dissipate. He rises from his bed and kisses John. For a brief moment, John gives him a haunted, haunting look. Then he returns the kiss.

When John takes Remy's cock into his mouth, Remy is aware that the gesture is complicated and he's quite not sure he understands all of its meanings. Goodbye, regrets, debts paid. Remy gasps and murmurs in French, a tangled mix of thanks and grief and _John don't stop_. That night, they lie twined together, though neither sleeps.

In the morning, Remy dresses and puts on his colored contacts. He knows John hates them, but in general Remy prefers this anonymity. He looks at John, brown eyes meeting brown, and gently kisses his forehead.

"Whatever calls you back, peu de flamme, go because it is what you choose. Not because it is what is easy." He strokes his companion's face. "I hope to see you soon."

John looks down and says nothing. Remy picks up his leather carryon and walks out of the hotel, onto the street. He finds a black cab and makes his way to Heathrow, then to New York. Storm meets him at the airport, embraces him like a brother.

"Are you here to stay?" she asks.

"I think so, cher," he says. "I've had enough distractions. Time, perhaps, to focus."

"We're glad to have you," she says firmly. Back at the mansion, it turns out that "we" does not quite include all of the X-Men, but mostly Remy gets along with everyone. And after a few drunken games of pool and a few harrowing Danger Room sessions, Logan gets over his initial distrust of Remy.

Remy enjoys life with the X-Men. He hasn't felt this sense of camaraderie and purpose since he was a teen who believed full-heartedly in the Guild. He isn't so naive now, but he still feels that he has chosen well.

He's been in Westchester for a few months when Hank calls an emergency staff meeting, his fuzzy blue face looking as grave as Remy's ever seen it. He tells them about a virus that's killing mutants. He tells them that it appears to have been artificially engineered. He tells them that despite his best efforts, it could take years to develop a cure.

"So what do we do?" Ro asks calmly.

"Can you use my blood?" Logan asks.

Hank says, "Ororo, I have already been in contact with the CDC to share my findings. But I believe we should focus on educating the public. And, privately, on finding out who is responsible for this."

"I... know some people," Remy said. "Can ask around."

Hank nods to Remy, then adds, "And yes, Logan, if you would consent to give me a few blood samples I will certainly see what I can do with that remarkable healing factor of yours." He doesn't sound optimistic, though, and Remy knows that in the past Hank has been unable to replicate Logan's healing factor.

Ororo organizes a press conference in the city, away from the school. While she's gone, Remy and Logan do their best to calm the children. Hank scarcely leaves the lab.

Two days later, Rogue finds Remy watching TV with a bunch of the younger students. She says, "Phone for you, Mr. LeBeau," and hands off the plastic cordless receiver.

"Hello?" Remy says politely. He can't imagine who'd be calling him, unless Bella--

"Come pick me up," a familiar voice says.

Remy smiles. "You are coming home, St. John?" Rogue looks up at that.

"Yeah, I guess I am," John says. He tells Remy what terminal he's at, and Remy hands the phone back to Rogue and heads for the garage.

"John's coming back?" she asks hesitantly.

"Sounds that way," he says.

She bites her lip, but says nothing.

When Remy finally makes it to LaGuardia against rush hour traffic, he's shocked by what he sees. John is pale and shaky, purple circles around his eyes. He stares for a long moment, then finally says, "Welcome home."

John shrugs, carelessly. "They say cats always go home to die. Figured I'd give it a try."

Remy wants to tell John that Hank is working on a cure, that he'll be fine, but he finds that the words won't come. He can't bullshit John, not now. Not at the end. He gives John a gentle hug and leads him out to the car, slinging John's old black backpack over his own shoulder.

***

At the end, John loses control of his powers and almost burns down the basement. Hank keeps him sedated after that, and he quietly fades out. Remy asks that he be cremated, and Hank arranges it.

Remy scatters John's ashes around the mansion's grounds. He'd thought about inviting some of the older students to help him--Bobby, Rogue, Jubilee--but decided against it. He's pretty sure that John wouldn't have wanted them there. Perhaps they knew it too, for none of them ask what had happened to their old classmate.

Remy smokes a cigarette and says his own private goodbye to John, who had never been able to see himself the way Remy had.

Remy always did know how to look better than most people.


End file.
